


All Things By A Law Divine

by loves_books



Series: Nothing In The World Is Single [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e01 And the Moonbeams Kiss the Sea, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4771721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment Robbie’s eyes fall on the painting, he knows exactly who the tall, seated figure is meant to be, but for the life of him he can’t quite fathom why he’s seeing what he’s seeing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Things By A Law Divine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wendymr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/gifts).



> ...for giving me this little plot bunny, and for helping with the first story in this series. 
> 
> With huge thanks to Willowbrooke for being my beta reader, and offering such fantastic advice. As always, I've tinkered with this since it was last looked at, so any remaining errors are mine.

The moment Robbie’s eyes fall on the painting, he knows exactly who the tall, seated figure is meant to be, but for the life of him he can’t quite fathom why he’s seeing what he’s seeing. It’s the very last thing he’d expected to find this evening, and he doesn’t even have anyone with him to share his moment of shock.

Laura should’ve been there, of course, but she’d had a call-out and had disappeared with a murmured apology. It was for the best, perhaps; it still felt a little strange, spending time together as ‘just good friends’ again after they had finally agreed their relationship wasn’t quite working out the way either of them had hoped. But Laura had already bought the tickets for this art show, and it had seemed a shame to let them go to waste.

When Laura had left him standing outside, Robbie had thought for a moment about skipping the show and heading to the nearest pub instead, but he’d known he’d never hear the end of it from Laura if he had done that. He would’ve called James to come join him instead, but the other man was hard at work on a case, holed up in his office with Lizzie.

Besides, he hasn’t told James about the break-up yet, though it’s been nearly a month already. For some reason, he hasn’t been able to find the right words to explain that he loves Laura, but he isn’t in love with her in the way she deserves. Equally, Laura isn’t in love with him, and the pair of them really do work better as friends. 

It’s somehow important that James understands, but the longer Robbie waits, the harder it is to start the conversation. Over these past few years James has gone from just being Robbie’s colleague and partner, to a best friend and brother of sorts, to becoming something much more in recent months, something closer and somehow nameless. Robbie would have to admit, though, that not one of those labels comes close to describing what he really feels when he thinks about the other man. 

But however he chooses to label their relationship, James has been there for him through thick and thin, and Robbie needs to find a way to make the younger man understand that this break-up with Laura truly isn’t a bad thing.

With or without that conversation, it would’ve been nice to have had James by his side tonight, and Robbie finds himself trying to imagine what smart-arse comments the other man might have made as they’d walked around the exhibition together. James always has the perfect quote for every occasion, though this little painting might have rendered even him speechless for at least a moment. 

The little painting in question has quite literally made Robbie stop in his tracks, and he tilts his head slightly as he stares at it, unable to tear his eyes away. A tall, slender man in a black suit and tie, seated on a log. His shining blond head is bowed as if in prayer, or just lost in thought, and the glow of a burning cigarette is obvious in his hand.

It’s the socks that convince Robbie, though. Even if he hadn’t been able to recognise that stick-insect frame and golden head of hair, there is the distinctive flash of lavender peeking out where dark trousers have ridden up. He hasn’t seen those socks in years.

What he can’t quite figure out is why he is looking at a portrait of James Hathaway, of all people. It seems particularly odd when James has already been on his mind.

Robbie takes a step back, turning slowly on the spot to take in the rest of the room. It’s quiet, only a few other visitors milling around. He vaguely remembers Laura telling him it was the last night of the show. Or the last but one. Something like that.

Shows like this really aren’t his sort of thing, though goodness knows he’s been dragged to enough of them in his time, first by Val and then by either Laura or James. Sometimes even both of them. He’s always been happy enough to keep them company, and there’s nearly always something unexpected that catches his eye. 

Like this beautiful oil painting of James. After almost tripping over a pile of painted tin cans on his way in, he’d started to regret missing the opportunity for a quiet pint by himself, but discovering this here seems like fate, almost. Not that he believes in fate, of course.

He glances around again, trying to see if the name of the artist is up somewhere, and when he finally sees it, everything suddenly clicks into place. Philip Horton, of course. He should’ve realised when he’d first seen the gorgeous painting of the river, which dominates this particular wall of art, but his attention had immediately been snagged by the seated figure so skilfully depicted.

Robbie looks closer at the rest of the displayed works now. Yes, he really should’ve known. There is the lovely Nell, smiling out at him, and a series of fine-line drawings which are so distinctive and perfect that they could only have come from this particular artist.

He smiles fondly at the memories from nearly seven years ago, even as his gaze drifts back to the painted James. Philip had been such a memorable young man in so many ways, and to this day Robbie isn’t sure if he is autistic or just special in some undefinable way, but it feels strangely good to see this evidence that such a unique individual is clearly getting along well with his life and his work. It’s a student and teacher show, he seems to remember Laura saying, so either Philip is still studying or he’s found a way to share his skills with others. 

There’s no one obvious around to ask. No guides, just a few couples looking at the various displays, though Robbie isn’t sure he would ask even if he could. Sometimes it’s better to leave a little mystery in the world. Like why Philip would have painted a portrait of James, and when this little scene might have taken place. He remembers well that Philip had felt completely unable to make things up, so the natural assumption is that, at some point, Philip had seen James sitting like this and felt compelled to paint him.

It’s a beautiful little painting, it really is, and Philip has somehow captured something of James’s true essence here. Robbie has seen the man sitting slumped like this time and time again, bowing his head in an attempt to make himself seem shorter, while puffing away on his damned cigarettes. But more than just the posture, Philip has captured the way that James can somehow look so serene and thoughtful, almost spiritual at times. 

A hint of the priest he might have been, though of course Robbie has always been quietly glad that James never took that path in the end. Most likely, they’d never have even met, Inspector Lewis and Father Hathaway. And even though he’s always tried hard not to think about the reasons why, Robbie can’t imagine his life without James in it; those months when he had been off walking in Spain had seemed endless. 

But it’s becoming increasingly hard not to examine those feelings in more depth, especially now that Robbie is single once again and spending more time back in James’s easy, welcoming company. 

“Quite remarkable, aren’t they?”

Robbie startles slightly, turning to see a tall woman in a black suit, arms folded across her chest, watching him enquiringly. “Sorry, what?” 

He realises, belatedly, how rude that must have sounded, but before he can begin to correct himself, his companion nods at the wall of Philip’s paintings. “The artist is incredibly skilled, don’t you agree?” She smiles at him warmly. “You looked slightly lost in the river scene for a while there. Swept away in the current, perhaps; you wouldn’t be the first.”

“Ah. Yes, he’s incredibly talented,” Robbie agrees in a heartbeat, even though it wasn’t the river scene that had him hypnotised. 

“They’ve been some of our bestselling works during the show,” the woman continues, before holding out a hand to Robbie. “Forgive me – Helena Forsyth, I’m one of the senior lecturers here.”

Robbie shakes her hand and introduces himself in return, before turning back to the paintings. “So, these are all sold then, are they?” He feels strangely disappointed. The thought of someone else owning that little painting of James makes something twist, deep in his stomach.

“Not all of them, no,” Helena tells him. “But while most of the other exhibitors have sold perhaps one or two pieces, which is still very good for what is mostly a student show, there are only one or two of Philip’s remaining. It’s little surprise that this beautiful river scene sold on the very first night.”

He could care less about the river painting, though of course it is indeed beautiful and breath-taking. “What about that little one there? The picture of the man in the suit, on the log?”

Helena steps closer to the display, squinting slightly, and for the first time Robbie spots the tiny sticky dots on the wall next to most of the works on display, probably showing which works have been bought. She makes a surprised little noise and Robbie’s heart lifts. “No, actually, although I can’t think why not. Exquisite brushwork.”

“I’ll take it.” The words are out of his mouth even before he thinks about it, and he takes a breath before continuing. “I mean, I’d like to buy it, please. As you say, exquisite brushwork.”

“A real investment for the future, too,” Helena tells him with a wide smile as she slips her hand around his elbow, guiding him towards what seems to be a small office located in the back corner of the room. “I think our Philip will really be one to watch, and his early works will undoubtedly be worth a small fortune in years to come…”

Robbie tunes her out easily enough, allowing himself to be steered effortlessly around the few other wandering visitors, though he can’t help but glance back over his shoulder at that little painting. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all. He hasn’t even asked the price, and it’s bound to be high. What on earth is he going to do with it anyway? 

But his moment of doubt is short-lived. Of course he has to own this painting, regardless of price, purely because the thought of anyone else owning it makes him feel slightly sick. Philip has captured James so perfectly, and Robbie just knows that there is no one else in the world who could understand and appreciate how intuitive and revealing this beautifully-rendered oil painting really is.

But if he’s being honest with himself, he has to admit that there’s another, far more significant reason for his need to own it. The simple fact is, he couldn’t bear the thought of this image of James being locked away in a collector’s vault, or hanging on the wall of some snooty sod who thinks that by owning this painting he’s proving to the world that he has taste and class.

And Robbie already knows the perfect spot to display it in his new flat, right above his telly where he can see it every day.

It suddenly occurs to him to wonder if James might have visited this show already and seen himself on display there. It’s certainly the kind of exhibition the younger man might well have come to see on a rare evening off, particularly if he’d seen Philip’s name on the advertising. 

But James would’ve invited Robbie along, surely? He wouldn’t have come alone to an event that would mean something special to the both of them. Something they could’ve shared. 

Thinking about it, though, perhaps James might have worried that Robbie would’ve brought Laura along. Laura hadn’t met Philip, and so she might not have understood quite why seeing his success would have been important to both Robbie and James. Of course, Robbie knows that she’ll appreciate the painting purely because it’s of James, and she’d certainly see the more practical aspects of investing for the future.

Investment is the last thing on Robbie’s mind, though, as the lecturer continues to lead him back towards the office, talking happily enough about her current batch of students. He can’t quite decide what James would think about a portrait showing him so relaxed and so natural. He’s such a quiet man, a private person in so many ways. Would he be embarrassed or quietly pleased? A little proud, almost certainly, to have been painted by Philip – they had both been impressed by his incredible skill, all those years ago. 

More than anything, Robbie finds he can hardly wait to show James what he’s found. And perhaps this could be the way in to that surprisingly difficult conversation Robbie has been putting off – he could invite James over for dinner, maybe, show him his new flat at last and explain about Laura. Explain about everything, somehow, in a way that James will understand. It’s vital to Robbie that James truly understands.

Robbie is no longer sure he understands everything himself any more, since this little portrait of James has thrown him so completely. He doesn’t believe in fate, or in divine intervention, but even he would have to admit that things definitely seem to be falling into place, slowly but surely, with the discovery of this beautiful painting just when James was already on his mind. He can only trust that everything else will work out for the best too.

“Mr Lewis?” The lecturer’s voice breaks into Robbie’s thoughts as they pause by the door to the office. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he tells Helena with a smile. “Everything’s perfect. Now, where do I sign?”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from 'Love's Philosophy' by Percy Bysshe Shelley.
> 
> I'm already working on part three...


End file.
